Redemption
by Neocolai
Summary: Frerin survived the battle of Azanulbizar and was left among their Iron Hills kin, but when Thorin loses contact with his brother he assumes the worst has happened. The Battle of the Five Armies changes everything... Because obviously I can't write enough BOFA!survival fics, and Frerin is totally epic when he's annoyed at people.


**Neocolai does not own the Hobbit or anything related Tolkein's works, or obviously a certain brother of Thorin's would have joined the quest...**

* * *

They never had a chance to meet their Uncle. After the Battle of Azanulbizar, Frerin had been too fragile to accompany his brother and sister to the Blue Mountains. Scarred under the torture of an Orcish blade, sickened by the fall of winter: he would never have survived the journey. It was Thorin's decision that his brother remain in the Iron Hills, where he would be guarded and protected and finally have the chance to heal.

He had never thought they would lose contact with Frerin immediately afterwards.

Dis was furious. When the ravens returned in silence she assumed the worst. The Dwarves of the Iron Hills were not cruel by nature, but there was a darkness surrounding them much like the greed which had consumed Thror. They lacked the kindness of their northern kin, and it was only a matter of time before her frail beam of sunshine was blotted out and swept into the shadows by those who could not understand him.

One hundred and forty years passed, and mourning drifted into numbness and numbness into cynicism. Thorin nearly had to pry Kili out of his mother's protection, and no amount of vows for his safety could convince Dis that her youngest would return to her again. She entrusted Fili with his brother's safety, and smote Thorin with renewed guilt by the knifing rebuke in her gaze.

Yet once more Thorin failed to keep his promises to her, demanding Fili and Kili to fight alongside him in spite of the younger's recent injury. The madness of gold and the desire to protect his long awaited inheritance drove him beyond reason and he saw nothing but soldiers prepared to defend their homeland.

Now as blood filled his mouth and he lay broken and crippled, a spear shaft through one leg and the weight of a dead warg pinning him down, Thorin watched his sister's sons rise to defend him and he yearned for a single day to take back everything he had torn down. Azanulbizar. The Iron Hills. The beginning of the quest. Mirkwood. This final battle. All of it could have been prevented with a single word.

_No._

Refusing to allow Frerin to prove his worth in battle. Insisting they wait a year longer so that he could journey home with them. Telling Kili to stay behind and prepare his people for the day Erebor was reclaimed. Running for the gate lever himself instead of allowing his nephew to be endangered. Locking both Fili and Kili away until the battle was over. So many scenarios ran through his mind. He could have saved them all. He could have sheltered them from a world of pain and suffering. Now he would be forced to watch his sister's sons die, helpless once more to raise a finger to prevent it.

Azog's mace slammed into Kili's chest and Fili cried out as his brother crashed into the dead warg's side, unmoving. In fury he drove his sword into the Pale Orc's knee, distracting him momentarily with the crippling blow. With a growl Azog batted him away like a broken toy, turning his attention back to Thorin. He had no need to avenge his wounds on mangy pups. His intended target lay mere feet away, horror and agony and fear radiating from him in waves, and Azog would not be denied his trophy.

Kili stirred feebly, brow creased in pain, and Thorin prayed that he would remain unconscious. His hand closed around his sword and he braced himself, the gash in his arm trickling blood as he raised himself up for the final onslaught. Azog bowed his head condescendingly and swung almost a casual blow, intended to maim and rend before the killing stroke.

Sunlight glinted on gold and suddenly Fili was there, an orc's shield braced over his head as he ducked to protect his king. Iron smashed against iron and sparks surrounded Fili like a halo of fire before the shield gave way, shattering with the crack of bone and the scream of the wounded. Falling to his knees, Fili cradled his broken arm and raised his gaze in defiance of his family's bane. At once Kili was at his side, leaning heavily to his right as he stood over his brother, sword raised in a petty act of bravado. The Defiler sneered at his courage and merely backhanded the prince away, the gash in his arm a pittance in comparison to the angry swelling which blossomed across Kili's face.

Fili screamed his brother's name and Thorin shouted for him to run – to drag his brother away from the tumult and save them both. It was already too late. Azog tired quickly of the game and kicked Fili aside, swinging his mace down to crush the Dwarf's skull.

Steel flashed and black blood spurted, and Azog's eyes snapped wide as a blade sliced cleanly behind each knee. With a snarl that was more like a rabid jackal than a warrior, a silver armored soldier leapt onto Azog's back and sunk his blade between the Pale Orc's shoulders. Bellowing in pain and outrage, the Defiler swung his hand back and grabbed the Dwarf by his arm, slamming him into the ground beside Thorin. Bronze hair tumbled down as the soldier's helmet flew off, and Thorin's shout of denial joined in the warrior's screams as his back arched in pain.

_It cannot be…_

The jagged scar stretching from a gash across the cheek…. The brazen anger and pain lancing across gentle brown eyes…

"Frerin!"

Thorin's roar was hoarse with disbelief and horror. For an instant the warrior's eyes turned to him and the mouth quirked in a familiar smirk, before Azog's clawed hand shot out towards his throat. Panic burst into those trusting brown eyes and suddenly Thorin was on the battlegrounds of Azanulbizar again, watching his baby brother writhe and scream in torment.

Azog gnashed his teeth and roared, the spikes of his hand digging deeper into the earth around his victim's throat. His legs were crippled and darkness edged his vision, and he would no longer waste time taunting the flimsy nuisances who dared stand against him. His free hand wrapped around the Dwarf's face, both suffocating and bruising as he twisted sharply to snap the warrior's neck.

Sunlight clashed in his eyes and his throat twinged, and the strength suddenly fled Azog's arms as black blood poured onto Dwarf's armor. In a haze he tried to raise his arm to bash in the warrior's face, only to realize that his limbs no longer obeyed him. Turning to his greatest nemesis, Azog snarled as he caught sight of the stained sword in Thorin's hand. Cold blue eyes stared into him without pity, and then darkness stole the Pale Orc's breath.

With a harsh gasp Thorin dropped Orcrist, reeling back as his vision clouded. Crying out as agony flared through his chest, he clawed his way forward until his hand closed around the silver armored wrist.

"F-Frerin?"

Clouded brown eyes turned towards him and a weary, contented smile brought a surge of hope to Thorin. The familiar, gap-toothed smile – Frerin's tooth had always been missing since that one time he had been elbowed in the face – caused tears to mist in Thorin's eyes and he reached out to muss his brother's hair back, mindless of the battle still raging around them.

"Welcome back… brother."

* * *

"No. Definitely not. No mead. Or ale. On second thought, give me that tray."

The door burst open and Thorin groaned at the noise, flinging an arm out to shade his eyes. A lithe, gangly figure stumbled through the door and he recognized Kili's wild locks – finally tamed and smooth under a circlet of mithril. Then the figure turned and Thorin ceased to breathe.

"What in name of…?"

"Use Aulë's name like that again and I'm pouring fish oil down your throat like Mum used to do."

Waving his bronze mane out of his eyes, Frerin grinned and slid the tray onto a nearby table before flopping onto the edge of Thorin's bed. The elder sat up and gaped, focusing on the fire radiating in his side and ordering himself to waken from this wonderful, terrible nightmare.

"You're not asleep, you're not dying, and you're not saying one word until you eat that soup. Honestly, Oin hasn't changed since you last tried to kill yourself. Remember the pond incident? You shoved me onto the ice and then caught pneumonia when I fell through and you practically drowned yourself trying to rescue me?"

"Frerin – "

"Shut up and eat the soup." Brown eyes snapped with mirth and Frerin held up the spoon, snapping his teeth when Thorin tried to speak again.

Sighing, Thorin guessed, "This is about the time after Moria, when you refused to eat for three weeks and I held your nose until you – "

"That wasn't food – that was Orc slop." Frerin wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Tell Dwalin I never want to taste his cooking again. Now shut up and eat before I drag Dis in here to persuade you."

Still Thorin balked, unable to believe his eyes. "Frerin, how did you – "

Frerin shrugged and tossed his hair over his shoulder, metal clinking from the silver woven into his braids. He looked so much _older_ now – still lanky and skinny and more like a son of man than a Dwarf – yet with all the characteristics of a true prince. A faint hauntedness lurked in his eyes, and Thorin's heart panged as he recognized the maturity that had replaced the innocence in his brother's gaze.

"Dain said you were in trouble." The light disappeared from Frerin's eyes, and he stared his brother down accusingly. "What _happened_?"

Thorin did not answer, his gaze sweeping over his little brother once more. Dark blue robes etched in silver and a circlet of mithril testified not only of royalty, but of an earned respect. Whatever Frerin had been through in the past hundred and forty years, he had not been cast away and forgotten. His posture held a confidence Thorin had never seen, and boldness replaced the tremor in his voice. For the first time he looked prepared to take on his role as king. Thorin felt almost shoddy and inexperienced in comparison.

"What happened to you, Frerin?"

Frerin's eyes slid away and a frown creased his brow. "I grew up," he muttered. "Lying around for months waiting for your legs to heal will do that to you."

Thorin flinched, remembering the shards of bone stabbing through his brother's legs.

Shrugging the memory away, Frerin poked at Thorin's soup and summarized, "I read a lot during that time. Got to know all the rules and etiquette of the Iron Hills. Dain boasts that I was invaluable during his father's time – honestly, I think he's just flattering me to try and keep me from returning to Erebor."

"We thought you were dead…" Thorin whispered.

Brown eyes turned to smoldering coals as Frerin answered in a steely tone, "So did I. Why did you never contact me, Thorin?"

"I…" Pulling himself upright and ignoring the screaming of his wounds, Thorin retorted, "We sent the ravens for years after we separated! Dis continued to write for years, even after we knew you would never respond. Where were you all that time?"

Confusion filtered across Frerin's eyes before he clenched his jaw, hissing in anger. "Dain," he spat. "That bratty little imp! When I get my hands on him…"

The doors swung open at that moment, disrupting his tirade. "I trust the King Under the Mountain is resting well."

The clouds vanished from Frerin's expression and his eyes turned deathly pleasant. Thorin almost shuddered from the grimness in his brother's gaze. _**This**__ is my little brother?_ That scrawny, flimsy boy who had been terrified of his own shadow was now glowering at Dain, his smile deceptively cheery as he drawled,

"Nice to see you after it's all over. I heard about you killing Bolg. Congratulations."

"It was the efforts of our people that brought victory," Dain said, bowing low to hide a smirk of triumph.

"Your people," Frerin growled.

Mystified, Dain looked between Thorin and his brother and questioned, "Is something the matter, your highness? I thought we were assured that our kingdoms would be united by your wisdom as my advisor. You _did_ mention it would be beneficial for the rebuilding of Erebor if – "

"You tore up all of Thorin's letters, didn't he?"

Startled, Dain gaped like a fish for a moment and Thorin was reminded how young the new king of Iron Hills was. Bracing himself under Frerin's glare, Dain straightened his robes and answered coolly,

"Do not be so quick to accuse, Frerin. I had nothing to do with my brother's antics. You should be thanking him - Kain treated you with more respect and appreciation than any of your kin ever offered. He often spoke of how you were a _brother_ to him. Consider it a blessing that he was jealous enough of you that he would try to keep any others out of the way."

The color left Frerin's face. "What... Kain?"

"Oh... you never knew." Dain's condescending tone grated on Thorin. "Kain always was good at hiding his true intentions. I am surprised you never guessed why the ravens seemed to avoid you."

You knew about this?" Frerin challenged.

"Believe me, if I had had any say in it, I would have told you everything and sent you to the Blue Mountains without a moment's thought." Fire snapped in Dain's eyes and his voice dripped with mockery. "Kain always said you were the brother he always wanted. He even was convinced that _you_ should be the second in line for the throne after his death. What – he never told you how _dearly_ he appreciated his little crippled Frerin?"

"So that is why you emphasized your position as the second-born heir." Frerin's tone was low and deadly. "Since you were six you were looking down that oversized nose at me – and I never thought anything of it."

"Wait," Thorin interjected, fully confused now. "What is – "

"You were always gullible," Dain sneered. "That is what Kain liked most about you – he could say anything in a kindly tone and you would believe him. You were so _desperate_ for approval."

The words hit Thorin like a slap across the cheek and he heard his own voice flinging them at his younger brother. Heat flooded Frerin's cheeks and he closed his eyes, lost for words in the sudden onslaught. The uncertainty was back and he floundered, causing Dain to smile in anticipated victory. Fury blazed through Thorin and he turned to offer the young upstart a scathing rebuke, but the flames snapped back into Frerin's eyes and he smiled with cold, bitter derision.

"You'll make a fine king of the Ironfists, Dain. You're the perfect example for them. I'm sure the trade routes with Laketown won't suffer, even _if_ you pay in gold plated copper."

Dain's smile vanished and he blustered, "What – you – is this a threat?"

Frerin sneered and jabbed Thorin's elbow, casting him a sly wink. "You forget… I've been negotiating the trade routes for some time. It only took a little digging to find out why the gold weighed less than it should have. I can give you a list of towns that will be very angry when they learn they have been cheated."

"We are Dwarves of honor!" Dain spat back.

"And those ponies you offered the mayor were _certainly_ of superior breeding and not a crossbred line." Frerin tilted his head and shrugged, calm now in his position of superiority.

Struck mute as he backtracked, Dain straightened his tunic haughtily and tilted his golden crown. "I perceive it will be a long while before the Longbeards and Ironfists are considered worthy allies," he said darkly.

"Only if you so desire it." Frerin smirked, matching Dain's threat without flinching.

"So this is how the Line of Durin falls," Dain sighed. "You would allow this, Thorin? With one clumsy effort, your brother has just made the mistake of a – "

"Get out."

Dain stepped back, surprised at Thorin's tone. "Forgive me, I believe I misheard – "

"Get out!"

A mixture of anger and dismay passed over Dain's features before his gaze hardened and he swept out of the door without so much as a bow. The moment he left Frerin's posture slumped and he fiddled with the bandages on his arm, avoiding Thorin's eyes.

"Frerin?"

"I … I didn't … I thought Kain… He said he sent five delegations to the Blue Mountains to find you, and they reported back that you had never made it." The shame in Frerin's voice spoke for him and he lowered his head.

_Pathetic. Gullible. Loser. _The faint taunts of Thorin's childhood rebuked him and he knew what his brother expected of him now. The past had never forgiven Frerin for his faults.

Frerin glanced up sharply as Thorin laid his hand on his shoulder, wistfulness kindling in his eyes when he saw his older brother smile. "You did well, Frerin," Thorin said fondly.

Ceasing to breathe, Frerin smiled shakily and clasped his brother's hand. "I knew you would never give up on me."

Mahal save him, that trust in his brother's gaze could never be extinguished. Water filmed Thorin's eyes and he pulled Frerin towards him, holding him tightly and swearing he would never let go again. Frerin laid his head against Thorin's shoulder, still too thin and fragile compared to his older brother. Too small to join in Thorin's games. Too frail to fight. He would _never_ be left alone again.

"Adad?"

Abruptly Frerin pulled away, a grin lighting his face like the sun after a cloudburst. Two figures in the doorway cleared their throats in embarrassment, having been caught red-handed observing their Uncles' reunion.

"It wasn't our fault this time," Fili said at once.

"Thráila made us do it!" Kili agreed.

Thorin chuckled and beckoned his nephews forward, and his happiness was complete as he saw a little bundle of sunshine and laughter barrel forward and slam into Frerin's legs. With a grunt Frerin scooped up the child, beaming as he turned around to show her to Thorin.

"Thráila, meet your Uncle Thorin. Thorin, this is my youngest daughter."

"Fili accidentally proposed to his eldest," Kili snorkeled, earning a slap over the head from his brother.

"I didn't know she was our cousin." Fili's ears reddened in mortification.

Thorin's gaze settled on his nephews, noting the way Kili cradled his left side and the splint supporting Fili's arm. Their eyes were dulled with pain but the joy still sparkled in Kili's eyes as he announced,

"Mum is here. She made us swear not to tell you of her plans to murder you by tomorrow morning."

"Naturally we found it in our best interests to warn you – "

"Only because Fili isn't ready to be king yet."

"Get in line," Frerin muttered under his breath. He hitched Thráila higher and smiled at Thorin, nodding in welcome. "It's good to see you again, brother."

Fili and Kili used to have silent conversations with their eyes. Thorin had never had time to read Frerin's thoughts, but he knew that this time, they both understood the same thing.

_No matter how often we quarreled in the past, I'm thrilled to know that you are alive. This isn't the first time one of us will be endangered – but it is the last time either of us will fight without the other close behind._

"There is much I want to hear from you," Thorin insisted.

Frerin laughed, carefree and lighthearted in a way Thorin had never seen him. "Get used to waiting. Dis already claimed my afternoon." He lifted his foot and jostled Thorin's leg, grinning cheekily when his brother swore and grabbed the offending limb. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be healing right now? Oin said lots of rest – and eat that soup. It's growing cold already."

"And you used to be the quiet one," Thorin grumbled.

Frerin made a face and shook his head. "Never again. But trust me, Maerí can do enough talking for the both of us. She insists you join us for dinner as soon as you're walking again – and you would do well to appease her. I do have two high-ranking Elves who can persuade you if you leave me no other choice."

Thorin's smile vanished and the clouds returned to his brow. "…Elves?"

"Fili and Kili's acquaintances," Frerin said innocently. "You know… Elrond's sons? I've seen them at work, actually. Trust me, I would sooner fight down Azog again than have those two sided against me. Take my warning – dinner. A week from now. Don't be late."

With a final grin Frerin waltzed away, pausing to call over his shoulder, "Soup!"

Thorin watched him leave, drinking in the sight of his younger brother – happy, content and _alive_, with a little one of his own. It was a sight he had thought would be denied him forever.

"You never told me I had an Uncle," Kili murmured. Fili cleared his throat uncomfortably, averting his gaze. He knew why Frerin had never been spoken of after Kili had been born.

Sighing heavily, Thorin settled back and pushed the tray aside, eyeing the cold soup with distaste. He raised his hand and beckoned his nephews forward, gratitude washing through him to know that they were alive and safe in spite of all his failings. Fili and Kili both settled on the end of the bed, the elder perched gingerly and the younger flopped over without a care in the world, and Thorin smiled in content.

"I suppose I should have shared this with you a long time ago…"


End file.
